When All is Said and Done
by raywing
Summary: As Maleficent and her companions begin to recover from the aftermath of the events of the movie, they find that the road forward has obstacles of its own...
1. Aftermath

Disclaimer: I do not own Maleficent. I only _wish _I could take credit.

Note: This story contains no outright OC's, though I have taken the liberty of giving names to and making use of existing minor characters.

**Aftermath**

Maleficent glanced down at Stefan's broken body. From the disturbing cant of his limbs and unnatural twisting of his neck, it was clear he would never rise again. With great finality, she turned her back on him and walked away, leaving him behind forever.

The rush of battle was quickly draining away, and now she could feel her every injury—every mundane bruise, and every burn the bitter iron had scored into her flesh. She had barely taken a few limping steps towards the castle gate before the heavy doors blew outward in a shower of splinters and debris. A massive, black shape came charging through the ruined passage—Diaval in the dragon form she had last given him—and he stretched upright, loosing an urgent bellow as he looked for his mistress.

"Here, Diaval," she called to him. He saw her, and as he gathered himself she returned him to his familiar human shape with a weak wave of her hand.

He hurried over, and she did not object when he drew her arm over his shoulders and very carefully placed his arm across her back to support her. He had never known her to invite physical contact, and knowing what she had endured he understood completely. He had half feared she would reject the offer of assistance, but he had seen her exhaustion and the livid burns and he was glad that she had allowed him to help.

"We have to find Aurora," she said, voice still tense with pain.

"Yes, Mistress," he agreed. He moved to guide them back towards the gate, but before he could take their first step she held him back.

"Were you hurt, Diaval?"

He shook his head reassuringly. "I'm barely scratched, Mistress. I suppose the Dragon's hide must have been extremely tough. Quite convenient, really."

"It was the only thing I could think of to do," she admitted.

"Well, it was most effective," he replied, sounding just a little bit pleased with himself. It was in the nature of a Raven to preen, after all. "Ready?" he asked more gently.

She nodded, and they set off in search of Aurora. She was searching just as frantically for them, so it did not take long to find her. With a strangled cry the girl spotted them and came running. The three shared a brief, relieved hug, but Aurora inadvertently brushed Maleficent's injuries. The girl quickly pulled back when she felt Maleficent's silent wince.

Aurora's eyes were instantly wide with worry. "Godmother, are you alright? Will you be okay?"

"I am—I will be," Maleficent promised, "though it's likely to take a while." She gathered herself for a second, drooping with weariness as she braced herself to tell the girl what she deserved to know. "He's gone," she said gently. "I tried…well, never mind that. I'm sorry."

Aurora bore the news stoically. "So…it's all over, then."

"Yes." Maleficent took another shaky breath, then looked to Diaval. "We need shelter. The castle…?"

"Not safe," he finished for her. "There are still soldiers everywhere. " No, there was nothing but chaos and iron in that place.

"Then we'll have to make it back to the Moors," Maleficent concluded. "Diaval…?"

"Go ahead, Mistress."

She whispered and flicked her fingers, and Diaval was transformed into the black horse he had been not long before. He knelt down so it would be easier for the women to mount. Weak as she was, there was little choice but for Maleficent to ride behind. Where he had originally plunged at a headlong gallop, the journey back to the Moors was taken at a slow, steady walk, Diaval taking infinite care to help his passengers keep their place.

When at last they reached the Moors, Diaval turned his head to ask his Mistress for direction. Understanding him without words, she told him to bring them to the old, ruined castle they had occupied for so long. He chose a path along the edge of the Moors, but the small, bedraggled party did not escape notice. The frightened Moor-dwellers remained out of sight, but whispers rustled back and forth.

_"They're alive. They've come back!"_

_"She returned to us. She is whole."_

There was trepidation and rejoicing, but more than anything else, the whispers asked, _"what comes next?"_

The only one to approach them openly was Chiudh, eldest and greatest of the powerful Tree Warriors. Knowing he had come to talk, Diaval halted in front of the giant, gnarled being. Silently, Chiudh sank to his knees before Maleficent and made obeisance.

"Rise, Chiudh," Maleficent commanded. "You have no need to kneel to me."

Chiudh stood, but kept his head bowed, a pointed show of respect whose meaning was understood. Of all the inhabitants of the Moors, only Chiudh and a few of his closest brothers had remained truly steadfast. Many of the faerie folk had fled in fear of Maleficent, and vanished. Others obeyed her rule, but grudgingly, feeling they had no other choice if they were to remain safe from the human world. A very few fae had actively rebelled. Chiudh and his brothers had been none of these. Maleficent was never certain just why they had remained so loyal, but if she had ever asked, he would have told her without hesitation that she was deserving of their faith. No one else had followed her into so many battles, nor borne such witness to her courage and determination when fighting for the integrity of the Moors. Her dedication had been absolute, and he felt he could do no less.

When he had risen fully, Chiudh spoke, using the ancient language of his ilk, as tangled and incomprehensible to most as the twisting limbs that comprised his body.

_"Our Lady is well come,"_ he pronounced.

"And we are well met," she returned. She marshaled her tired thoughts into some semblance of order as she considered what would have to be done next. "Chiudh," she said, "I need you to spread word. I declare a Moot, tomorrow, one hour before sundown."

_"It will be done,"_ Chiudh replied.

According to the old tradition, any citizen of the Moors had the right to call for a Moot—a general gathering of all the Moors' people. Everyone had always attended, for a Moot would invariably concern a matter of great urgency, but some of the faerie folk might be hesitant to come now. They had good reason; the last Moot had marked the terrible day Maleficent had come before them, mutilated and forsaken, her wrath spreading through the Moors like an inky blight as she named herself their Queen. Yet, this time they would not stay away. Chiudh believed in her, and because he did, so would they in the end. Even the vanished and the rebels, Maleficent thought, would eventually show.

She thanked Chiudh, and he withdrew. When he had gone, Diaval resumed his slow walk towards the abandoned castle. At last they arrived. Aurora and Maleficent dismounted, and Maleficent returned Diaval to his human form.

"I'll keep watch, Mistress," he offered. Maleficent nodded her grateful acceptance. He helped her over to the sheltered corner where she made her ragged bed, and once she was settled, he showed Aurora where a few extra blankets were kept. Aurora picked her own corner, not seeming to mind the humble surroundings, and Diaval assumed a post near a broad gap in the wall which had probably begun its existence as a modest window. From there, he could easily stand vigil. Sleep came swiftly to Maleficent, and not long after for Aurora, leaving only Diaval as solitary sentry. Much to his relief, the night passed quietly.


	2. Healing All Wounds

**Notes:** Picks up right where the last chapter left off.

**Disclaimer: ** Nope, don't own it. Still playing in somebody else's sandbox.

* * *

**Healing All Wounds**

Maleficent felt much improved when she awoke. The iron-burns and a general, bone-deep ache would linger for some while, but the more ordinary cuts and bruises had almost faded away already. It was a great comfort to wake up in familiar surroundings, bathed in a particular glow of morning light that was unique to the Moors. That same light, which had roused Maleficent, woke Aurora as well. Diaval produced food from a carefully preserved and hidden store, and the three broke their fast together. As a faerie, Maleficent normally needed to eat very little, but she ate now to satisfy the insistent demands of her healing body.

When they were all refreshed, Maleficent lead them out onto the Moors. She remained on foot, which her companions found curious at first, but in due course they understood. Wherever her bare feet touched the ground, the blight withdrew. Color and life—or a truer, more vibrant life than the half-choked existence allowed by the blight—came flooding back. They ranged across every corner of the Moors, and after a while, a few fae began to appear around them. Some, being especially cautious, did little more than peek from a hiding place or follow them from a distance, flitting from branch to branch well out of reach. A few were slightly bolder. These tended to dart in, timidly touch the edge of her garments or the points of her spiraling horns with the tip of a finger or tail or wing, then dart away again. Maleficent patiently allowed this, carefully not reacting to their curiosity lest they be startled. The very boldest would creep warily from the forest shadows and, when nothing alarming befell them, they would approach to just out of arm's reach and pause there.

This continued for the better part of the day, as they worked from the edge of the Moors steadily closer to the Center Grove. As the Center it was not precisely a physical place, and it would not have fit comfortably on any map. Rather, it was the Center of the spirit of the Moors, and the wellspring of its Magic. It was where the Heart-Tree grew, whose roots Maleficent had distorted to form her throne.

Their progress was generally steady, but occasionally Maleficent would pause to heal some small hurt—some broken branch or wounded limb. She had never neglected that duty—not entirely—but no hands could ever heal very well when the heart behind them was eaten by hate. Now Maleficent sought to remedy that deficit.

Only one other place occasioned a significant halt. They had come very near the edge of a cliff which dropped off steeply into a river-cut canyon, and right at the precipice, growing so that most of its branches draped over the empty air, was a strange, old Rowan tree. Maleficent stopped in her tracks when they first spotted it. She stood still for a long moment, her attention focused on it with a fixed intensity that was unusual even for her. Then she began to approach the old Rowan slowly, even reverently. When she had reached it, she rested one cheek against the rough trunk, and placed her left hand flat along side it.

As soon as her hand touched the tree's bark, she drew in a sharp breath. "You remember me!"

The tree's branches rustled, as if in reply, as if to say, _of course I do._

Aurora and Diaval exchanged a puzzled look, and Maleficent seemed to become aware of their presence once more.

"This place was my home," she explained. "This is where I lived…before." She did not have to specify what "before" meant.

The upper branches began to curl around themselves, weaving through one-another in what Diaval instinctively perceived as the shape of a human-sized nest. There was a hopeful note in the way the leaves whispered against one-another, almost an invitation.

"No," Maleficent told the tree regretfully, "I cannot stay with you right now. But later," she promised, "when my present work is done."

Reluctantly, she stepped back from the Rowan and rejoined her friends. There was not much of the Moors left, after that, and it was not long before they finally reached the Center Grove. A stately ring of trees enclosed a quiet clearing, and even blighted it hummed with Magic. This place, more than any other, was the sanctuary of the Moors. It was here the Fae would hold their Moots, and here they would come to in times of greatest need. The far side of the ring was dominated by the spreading, majestic boughs of the Heart-Tree. An Ash tree so ancient that its beginnings were lost even to myth, it now stood crippled, its roots still warped. Though this had been her own handiwork, Maleficent found it painful to look at now. The whole sight radiated wrongness.

Well, she was about to remedy that, but one other task needed to come first. She paced to the center of the clearing, raised her hands, and focused her mind on the wall of thorns which still formed an impenetrable barrier between the Moors and the human world. She imagined it receding, sinking back into the Earth and returning to the formless substance of which it had been created. As she willed it, so it was.

When she was sure the wall had completely gone, she finally approached the Heart-Tree. Solemnly, she placed both hands upon it, closed her eyes, and for a long while she stood stock-still, so motionless that it almost seemed that _she _had entered an enchanted sleep. In truth, she had retreated very deeply within herself, and was very keenly awake, not to the ordinary sensations of the outside world, but to the threads of magic binding the Heart-Tree. Seen from a distance, the binding spell shone like a black beacon, and could have been perceived by any being with the least sensitivity to Magic. But when examined in actual detail, the spell was revealed to be an intricate construct, made of filaments of Magical power so fine as to be barely perceptible. In a benign spell, these might have been entwined like the warp and weft of woven cloth, clean and orderly. In _this _spell, they were a snarled, knotted mass, ugly and misshapen. Maleficent resolutely began the painstaking task of tracing each filament and coaxing it out of the tangled mess.

Her normally impassive face furrowed in concentration, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Though to Diaval and Aurora only minutes were passing, there was no time in Maleficent's interior world as she pried at the Magic, and to her the labor was that of hours. She worked thread after thread free of the fringes, until at last, she found it: one particular thread at the source of the spell, the cause of the worst of the entanglements. In her thoughts, she grasped hold of it.

_You command this spell, _she thought to it, _and I command you, for it was I who made you. I tell you now to be no more. _Born in hate and wrath, it resisted bitterly, but could not in the end overcome the will of its creator. What seemed like all at once, the spell disintegrated. The whole Earth of the Moors trembled and the great Tree groaned as its roots shook free of the binding and plunged back into the ground where they belonged. Aurora and Diaval found themselves breathing sighs of relief as a tension in the air so pervasive that they hadn't noticed it before faded away. It was as if the Tree itself had sighed.

Maleficent's awareness returned to the outside world, and she took a deep breath of her own as she wiped her brow, satisfied with her efforts. She looked to the Sun, and found it was sitting low in the sky; it was nearly time for the Moot. She was not troubled by the late hour, for to prepare she needed only a single thing. She bent close to the ground, and coaxed the budding plants nearby towards her hand, causing them to twine together in the form of a delicate circlet. When she straightened, she held a crown of flowers.

* * *

**A/N And there's Chapter Two, finally! I hope you all think it lives up to the first. **


	3. Questions About the Future

**Note: **At last, another chapter! This is a longer one...with a lot of talking...so I hope everyone likes it. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has followed, faved, or reviewed this story so far.

**Disclaimer: **Yep, still not mine. Nope, please don't sue.

* * *

**Questions About the Future**

Maleficent placed the Flower Crown on Aurora's brow in front of the assembled Moot. That final act of restoration complete, she let her eyes slip closed as she savored that moment, drawing back to where Diaval waited patiently at her shoulder. It was done. The time of the Dark Queen was over and once more Winged Maleficent was Lady Protector of the Moors.

She was drawn out of herself by Diaval's voice: "Look who showed up," he murmured. She heard his amusement, and shared the feeling when she followed his gaze and saw young Phillip hovering in the crowd, looking all around himself with his mouth half-open, torn between nervousness and wonder.

"I'm going to have to have a talk with that boy," Maleficent mused.

Diaval conceded this was true, though he spared a wry grimace of sympathy. "Maybe we don't have to be _too _hard on him?" he suggested.

"We shall see how it goes," she replied archly, but Diaval relaxed. He had long ago learned to recognize the subtle hints in her expressions, and though her words were unsympathetic, Diaval could see the suggestion of mercy in the lines of her face.

The revelry lasted well into the night, and long before all grew quiet Maleficent stepped away from the crowd, venturing out to the edge of the Moors and walking the track where her wall of thorns once stood. She welcomed the silent, shrouding darkness, which still felt more comfortable to her than the daylight after so long living in shadow. To one side were the lights of the Moors, in all their many shapes and colors, and to the other were the human Borderlands, lit in celebration by orange bonfires. The plain at the border lay dark and quiet, King Henry's army of old no more than ghosts and memory. All was well, now, all secure. Still, as a vigilant Protector, with the long view of her immortal kind, Maleficent could not help but wonder: how long would the peace last? One generation? Two? Could it possibly endure longer? She sighed and shook her head. She could not foretell. She could only hope…and keep watch.

The sound of footfalls from the Moor side was followed by a tentative query: "Mistress?"

With a sweep of her hand, she invited Diaval to join her. He stepped diffidently from the shadows. "Aurora's been looking for you," he said.

Maleficent gave a short nod in acknowledgment. "I'll return in a moment." She took one last look across the kingdom she thought of as the Borderlands. Their War with the Moors had begun well before King Henry and dragged on through the decades of Stefan's mad reign. Between the War and Stefan's misrule, the Borderlands was wrung dry and all but shattered. Aurora was kindhearted, and she had a quick mind, but she was so young, and she had never been taught the first thing about leading a nation. That meant that _someone _was going to have guide Aurora while she learned to rule and help her put the kingdom back together. "After we visit, we'd best get our rest," she informed Diaval. "We are going to have a great deal of work to do."

There hadn't been any emphasis to the words, either spoken or perceived, but without warning something about the phrasing caught Diaval's attention and a great cloud of worry began to descend. He probably meant to remain silent, but the words were out before he could think: "'We,' mistress?"

She crooked an eyebrow and fixed him with one of her _looks_. "Yes, 'we'. Why would it not be?" Had he not been so mired in anxiety, he might have noticed that her look was a mask, and behind it she was feeling a growing concern of her own.

Diaval swallowed hard. His next words were barely audible. "You have your wings back."

Her eyes narrowed, but then her face softened, the undercurrent of concern still present. "And that's what I said I needed, wasn't it?" They were at the precipice now.

Diaval nodded glumly. When she had taken him into her service, she had said she needed him to be her wings, and now that she had hers back…it must be that she wouldn't need him anymore. His whole posture slumped in misery at the thought.

As much as Diaval dreaded a final dismissal, Maleficent found it equally upsetting to contemplate the possibility that he would ask to leave. In that moment, though, his desire to stay was written on every inch of him, and she realized with blinding clarity that he would never ask to go.

She smiled at him then, and it transformed her austere face so completely it took his breath away. "I will always need my clever spy…and my good friend."

He straightened, eyes bright with hope. Her eyes brushed his only briefly as she turned and raised her hand to beckon him.

"Come," she said. There was still much unresolved, and neither were quite sure where exactly things stood, but they knew at least they would be together, and for now that was more than enough.

Aurora was waiting anxiously for them when they returned to the celebration. Laughing, she practically leapt into Maleficent's arms, taking her in a tight hug. "There you are, Godmother!"

"Yes, here I am," she agreed serenely, releasing her young charge. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, it's wonderful!" Aurora exclaimed, spinning in place when mere words were not enough to express her enthusiasm.

Her happiness was infectious, but then as she spun she caught a glimpse of the bonfires in the Borderlands out of the corner of her eye, and her smile faded. She was still and quiet for a long time as the truth began to sink in. "I'm not going to be able to stay here, am I? In the Moors, I mean," she clarified, eyes fixing desperately on her Godmother.

"No," Maleficent agreed gently, taking the girl's hands in her own. "That is not going to be possible now." She guided the girl to a fallen log where they could both sit comfortably. They availed themselves of it, and the pure sensation of her own wings spreading to accommodate the low seat came as an unexpected shock. It was a simple thing, an automatic motion, those smooth muscles extending in an elegant sweep, but now it sent a thrill up her spine. So long it had been, so very long…..

Firmly, Maleficent schooled herself to address the matter in front of her. "The Borderlands are your home," Maleficent began. "They celebrate now, and perhaps for a little while they could be happy with things left as they are, but Stefan encouraged ambitious men to crowd his borders, and cultivated worse in his inner circle. If no one else comes forward to claim it, there will be a war for the throne, and what little the ordinary people may have will be utterly lost. That throne is _your _right. The people will need you to take your place as their queen."

Aurora's features took on an uncharacteristic frown. Certain things had suddenly added up. "You say it's my right, but it was stolen, wasn't it?" The look on her innocent face descended from one of distress to one of horror as the realization crystallized. "That's why they were there—he stole the throne when he took your wings!"

"That ambition was what drove him to it," Maleficent confessed, no longer able to keep secrets from Aurora, no matter how the truth might hurt. "But," she continued firmly, "you are _not _his child alone. You are also your mother's child, and carry on her line just as much as his, though humans always seem to forget about such things." Maleficent surprised herself slightly at her own words. She had never spared much thought for the pale, unfortunate woman she'd seen only once, at Aurora's christening. She could only imagine with a shudder what it must have been like to be bound to Stefan as his wife. And yet, that nameless woman had probably been stronger than others had given her credit for. "You are her daughter," Maleficent insisted, "and you are my God-daughter. You have the right because I say you do."

Aurora still looked troubled, so Maleficent put a tentative arm about her shoulders. "I would change this if I could," she admitted. "If there were anyone else fit to take the throne, who could be trusted to honor the peace, I'd keep you by me and pass the burden on to them. But there is not. Rule must fall to you now."

Aurora considered all this carefully, then nodded solemnly in understanding. "I guess that's all true. It's only that—it's just—I have no idea how to be a queen. Godmother," she breathed in alarm, "what am I supposed to do?"

"It will be alright, Aurora. I promise. You will not be alone," Maleficent added soothingly. "I'll be there with you."

"Really?" Aurora's posture was stiff as she all but pleaded.

"Of course," Maleficent said firmly. "I wouldn't leave my poor Beastie to fend for herself, now would I?"

"Of course not," Aurora laughed, her mood swinging with lightning swiftness from anxiety to joy. Maleficent merely smiled; such was the way with the young.

"That's better. I'd say we've had enough of worrying for one night, don't you?"

"Yes, Godmother," Aurora agreed cheerfully. Her smile morphed into a mighty yawn as the very late hour suddenly caught up with her. Maleficent didn't blame the girl. It had been a long and draining couple of days. After taking just long enough to ascertain that the other human visitor was not involved in any trouble—and he wasn't, unless one counted the fact that Phillip had fallen sound asleep and subsequently been covered in garlands of flowers by the pixies—Maleficent and Diaval shepherded Aurora back to Maleficent's Rowan tree.

The Rowan very willingly wove a bower for the girl among its roots, with a floor of soft grass and moss for a bed and woven vines for a blanket. As soon as Aurora was safely tucked in, Maleficent considered seeking her own nest, but at just that moment the Moors began to stir with the dawn breeze. As the very first faint line of light appeared, the breeze teased through her hair and caressed the feathers against her back. Instantly, any weariness was forgotten, and her wings itched in anticipation from the roots to the very tips. _It was time. _

She could think of nothing but the possibility of flying, her wings spreading halfway without her even being aware of it. She only distantly heard Diaval inquiring what had caught her attention, but the sound of his voice reminded her that he was there, and she found that she wished for his company. He seemed almost as eager as she. Even as she shook her wings out to their full spread, she gave him back the shape of a Raven and with a single, powerful push she was gloriously airborne. As smoothly as if her wings had never been lost, she caught the updraft over the canyon, using it to lift her in a slow, ascending spiral.

Her mind was completely taken with the feel of the wind, the air through her feathers, the lift bearing her up, though some faint pocket of rational thought used the easy climb to assess if the years of loss had left behind any weakness. The initial answer was, not at all. That satisfied, there was nothing but joy again, and when at last her mind was clear of the heady rush of flight-flight-flight, she leveled off, having risen well above the clouds. Diaval was close at her side, and Maleficent realized she was glad of this. Still, the need to push, to truly feel the power of her wings, was upon her again, and she began to take strong, forward strokes, gathering speed. Now the wind of her passage was howling against her, but she kept her pace, reveling in it. Diaval could not keep up by dint of sheer power, but he was both experienced and clever. Maneuvering so that he came just behind and a little outside, he rode her slipstream, letting the air in her wake do his work for him.

When she was sated with the feel of raw, undiluted speed, she tested herself in other ways. She began a slow, graceful roll which she gradually tightened into a blistering spin. She extended into a glide, each feather stretched out to the fullest, harnessing the high currents. When that took her as low as she cared to be, she rose again in a looping arc, and just as she reached the peak she snapped her wings closed and plunged into a heart-stopping dive. She threw her wings open and pulled up only feet from the treetops (Diaval was tempted to say inches) and after that she settled into a steadier flight, free of wild aerobatics.

They were over the Borderlands by then, and Maleficent let old habits re-establish themselves, crossing over the territory in a loose patrolling pattern, much the way she had watched over everyone in her youth. The whole of their flying took Diaval and Maleficent over both the Borderlands and the Moors themselves, but it was something she noticed when flying over the Borderlands that really stuck with her. When it was over, she landed gently in her nest amid the branches of her Rowan. Diaval, intuiting that she needed the Rowan to be her private place, found a comfortable roost in another tree nearby, tucking his head under his wing before falling asleep. Rest came more slowly to Maleficent, for crossing over the Borderlands had set her to thinking over the problem of how to gain Aurora a foothold as Queen when Stefan's jackals were certain to resist. But as she reflected on what she had noticed while flying, she realized that there was indeed a way. By the time sleep descended, she had a plan.


	4. Preparing

**Note: **This is sort of a transitional chapter, and it was surprisingly hard to write, but I hope you all will enjoy it. Thanks to all of you for your support!

**Disclaimer:** Only the writing is mine. The original characters and story this is based on do not belong to me.

* * *

**Preparing**

Though last to sleep, Maleficent was the first to wake, noting that the Sun stood a shade past midday. She flexed her wings, testing the long-unused muscles for any soreness after the early morning's over-enthusiastic flight. She was pleased to find only a slight ache, and decided that a few more days of patrols would be enough to rebuild her endurance and polish almost-forgotten reflexes. With her battle-injuries continuing to heal nicely, it would not be long before she was properly fit.

The Moors were unusually quiet, though it was not surprising after the previous night's long celebrations. Maleficent herself drowsed again for a little while, enjoying a feeling of contentment, of wholeness and home, that she had not experienced in a very long time. When she caught the sound of approaching footsteps, she became alert, and came down from the Rowan, letting her wings carry her until she touched lightly upon the ground.

A few moments later, young Phillip emerged from the edge of the forest, seeming rather lost until her voice informed him of her presence.

"You disturb our rest," Maleficent snapped. Phillip stopped short, startled, and he took a step back before he could help himself. Framed by horns and great wings tipped by slashing claws at the shoulders, with her piercing, iridescent eyes and stark features, Maleficent cut an imposing figure, even without the jet black garb she had previously favored. _This_ was the bristling Protector, who brooked no trespassers.

Remarkably, it took only a moment for the young man to gather his wits. "My sincerest apologies, Lady Maleficent," he said, actually seeming to mean it. "I wished only to express my thanks, and to see that Princess Aurora is well." His courtly words were followed by an equally courtly bow, but the effect was thoroughly ruined when a small shower of flower petals cascaded from his curly hair. Some still remained there, and others still clung to the folds of his shirt and cloak.

"That would be the pixies," Maleficent informed Phillip. "They get into mischief if you don't keep an eye on them."

He gave an embarrassed cough and ran his hand through his hair, a move which only occasioned another shower of petals. "I'll have to remember that from now on," he acknowledged ruefully.

"Best that you do," she agreed curtly. She cocked her head and examined him critically. "Not many of your kind would dare to enter the Moors uninvited," she observed coldly. Her voice was soft and dangerous.

Maleficent wasn't sure precisely what reaction she expected—bumbling and stammering, most likely. Instead, to her surprise, all he did was shrug sheepishly. "Honestly, I'm trying to figure out what happened these last couple of days," he admitted. For him, it was really quite a jumble. He clearly remembered riding through the forest—lost, he was embarrassed to say, in an attempt to skirt a nasty-looking wall of briars at a safe distance—and he remembered coming across the golden-haired maiden who'd offered him directions. Then everything was a very curious _blank_, and after that…. "I guess I was in the castle," he murmured, trying to sort it out. "And she was there, but she was asleep and there were three very strange, tiny women and I'm still not sure what they asked me to do was very proper. I don't know what it was supposed to accomplish, really, but then they grabbed me and took me away. I don't know what happened next, just that there was a lot of noise and there must have been fighting," he went on. Maleficent, who was never less than completely self-controlled at all times, was rather fascinated to witness such an unguarded reverie, though it was at that point he shook himself out of it and addressed himself to her directly again. "I tried asking some of the guardsmen what had happened," he explained, "but I couldn't get a straight answer. They started talking about a-a _Dragon _of all things. Can you believe it?" He offered a small, bemused smile.

Maleficent made a noncommittal noise, privately wondering what Phillip would make of the Tree Dragon if she were to introduce him to Chiudh's much larger cousin. The thought was all too tempting. "And what brought you _here?" _Maleficent pressed.

"Well, I finally found a Steward who was sensible," Phillip said, "and he told me he'd seen someone heading this way some time earlier. Then everyone was saying the wall wasn't there anymore and…well…it was all I had to go on."

"I see," she responded, tone still icy.

"I'm sorry I came without leave," he said quietly. "I didn't realize what place this was. We have nothing like it in the South where I live, though there are stories that there was, once, long ago. By the time I did realize where I'd come, I was already sort of…here…already. I mean no harm."

"If I thought you did, you'd have been cast out long before now," Maleficent assured him. He believed her implicitly.

"It would be your right," he acknowledged, rediscovering a bit of his earlier formality. "I am grateful for your mercy, for I would not care to come against you. Aurora and the Moors are fortunate to have such a defender." He spoke carefully, having listened very closely to the conversations around him the previous evening. In so doing, he had grasped the essence of Maleficent's calling as Protector over the Moors, and intuited what might happen to anyone so reckless as to flout her guardianship. More important, he had worked out that there was a particular bond between the Protector and Aurora…and if Maleficent were as formidable as he suspected in defense of her homeland, he did not dare think of how fearsome she might become if threatened in her role as Mother. Oh, no. He did not care to come against her at all. He forced himself to meet her eyes squarely, needing to convey all this, and her piercing lights met his in return. Understanding passed between them.

"So you are not entirely a fool," she allowed.

"I like to think there is hope for me," he agreed cheerfully, feeling a wash of relief.

For her part, Maleficent merely gave a faint shake of her head as she considered the puzzling young man. Phillip reminded her of nothing so much as an awkward, half-grown puppy. She supposed he would grow out of that eventually, though towards good or ill she was not yet prepared to judge. Still, he seemed earnest enough. It was a start.

Sensing a favorable moment, Diaval fluttered down from his roost, having woken not long before. With a smooth gesture, Maleficent granted him his human form. Phillip greeted "Sir" Diaval very politely, having overheard his name as well as Maleficent's the evening before. Possession of a title was news to Diaval, but he was suitably flattered. Phillip was briefly shooed away, giving him an opportunity to shake free the last evidence of the Pixies' attentions while giving Aurora a chance to wake in privacy and put herself in order for the day.

It was too late in the day to begin any serious undertakings, but once everyone was up and fed, Maleficent used the time to convene them in an informal council. Aurora was included, of course, but Phillip was also was also allowed to join them. Maleficent figured it was safest to keep him in her sight. She shared what she had observed in her first flight over the Borderlands, and asked Diaval to recount what he knew of the nobles who would be vying for power in the Castle. After sixteen years of spying, he had detailed knowledge, and he outlined which of the nobility he thought would be the chief contenders for the throne, who their various allies were, which of them were likely to be unpersuadable enemies, and which were opportunists who might be won over if they could be convinced it was to their advantage. Diaval thought it possible one or two might actually be friendly, but neither Maleficent nor her companions were prepared to risk anything on that slim chance.

Aurora remained serious and mostly silent throughout, trying to memorize everything she could, knowing that these were the people she was going to have to deal with when she returned to the Castle. At length, Maleficent decided that they were as prepared they were going to be, and sent everyone off to rest in anticipation of an early start on the morrow. She made a short flight circling the site of her Hometree, ensuring that all was quiet and at ease, then she, too, lay down to rest.

Just after first light the next day, the four gathered silently and made themselves ready to depart. Philip whistled for Samson, his sturdy gelding, and the horse came placidly, asking only that his master reward him with a good scratch behind his ears. Philip could not help but notice that Samson's mane had been braided and, sure enough, woven with its own collection of flowers. "Pixies got to you, too, did they?" he asked fondly. He gave the horse a reassuring pat on the neck. "Well, at least it looks better on you than it did on me."

Samson was introduced to Aurora, who stroked his velvety muzzle and offered him anther ear-scratching, which he accepted as his just due. With a faint tinge of color rising in his cheeks, Philip asked Aurora if he and Samson might offer her a ride. After looking to Maleficent for permission—which she granted, secure in the knowledge that she and Diaval would be nearby the whole time—Aurora accepted, her cheeks sporting a blush of their own. Phillip gave her a hand up onto Samson, this being the gentlemanly thing to do even though the Princess did not seem to truly need it, then swung himself up behind her. With that, they were ready, and at Maleficent's word, they set off.

They passed near the edge of the lake that fed the canyon's river and bordered the Center Grove, and from there they traveled through the deeper parts of the Moors' shadowed forest. Once they were clear of the thickest trees, Maleficent and Diaval took to the air, he being returned to his natural Raven shape. That was not far from where the Moors gave onto the open plain that marked the beginning of the Borderlands, and presently they crossed the invisible but history-fraught line that separated the two kingdoms.

Once on the open flat, Samson's pace alternated between a moderate trot and an easy canter, and Maleficent and Diaval circled almost lazily overhead so as not to outpace them. Diaval, being more a spy than a caretaker, had overlooked what Maleficent herself had seen in their last flight, but now that he had been made aware what to look for, he could see that she was right on all counts. There was trouble brewing, and he was willing to bet that the nobles didn't know it.

Soon enough, they drew close to the Castle, too rough and forbidding to be called a Palace, and they could see that the ruined gates still lay in splinters. Maleficent and Diaval landed, and once Diaval had resumed his human form, all four approached, with Maleficent and Diaval leading, keeping Aurora and Phillip shielded safely behind them by wordless agreement.

"Do you think we should knock?" Diaval quipped.

"That seems to have been taken care of," Maleficent noted dryly, eyeing the shattered doors.

"You know," he said more seriously, "I still think it would have been a good idea to bring a column or two of the Tree Warriors. It could be dangerous in there still."

Maleficent shook her head firmly. "They are going to be alarmed enough as it is. It would do little good to stir them up further."

"Maybe they could use a little stirring up," he muttered. "Well, if they do," he realized brightly, "you could always turn me back into the Dragon."

Somewhere over his shoulder, Phillip choked. Diaval looked his Mistress, eyebrow lifted to inquire what _that _was about, but she motioned them all forward. It was time to rattle the hornet's nest.

* * *

**So, there we have it-another chapter! Next time, we get to see what Maleficent saw and what she's up to...**


	5. War's End

**Note:** At last, things come to a head. Let's see what happens! Thanks again to everyone who has followed and reviewed-I really hope you will like this latest installment.

**Disclaimer: **same as always.

* * *

**War's End**

The small but determined group passed over the moat-bridge and through the broken gates into the Great Hall, still strewn with rubble and scorch-marked after the recent battle. The central window was still empty and shattered from Maleficent's desperate escape. Arrayed before Maleficent and her followers—and obviously hastily assembled—were the Court nobles, all of those whom Diaval had named to his friends during their council. As many as two in every three had been in the Court since the beginning of Stefan's reign or before, and had witnessed earlier events leading to this moment, but others were newer, and were probably the most ambitious of the lot. Straddling both these camps and standing at the head of the assemblage was Robert, Lord of Brinwood. Robert, who was slain Henry's nephew, passed over in favor of Stefan. It had been Robert's nerve, not his loathing, that had failed him when Henry had made Maleficent's death the price of succession.

He lacked the unhealthy paunch Henry had carried, and he had donned armor, but Robert was no warrior. Maleficent recognized immediately that what he wore was ornamental, and useless for combat. Their obsession with cladding themselves in cold metal was one of many things that Maleficent found perplexing about the human race. An unattractive combination of oily and sallow, Robert relied more on his name and a network of allies than on personal charisma, but feeling himself unjustly denied, he had been one of the quickest to view Stefan's growing madness as an opportunity and thus, exactly as Diaval had guessed, he had been the most prepared to grab control with Stefan gone.

The Captain of the Guard had, of course, reported an hour since who was approaching the Castle. Yet now, seeing them stride in, seeing _her _return after everything she'd _done_, Robert became enraged, his face contorted with fury.

"You! Begone, foul witch!" he snarled, advancing on them. "You are not welcome here."

"And yet, here I am," she replied coolly. She did not give so much as a single step, nor acknowledge his slanders. She let him ponder whether being told she was unwelcome had worked on her sixteen years ago.

"Kingslayer!" he accused, pressing his attack.

"Only by your word," Maleficent countered.

"You deny you killed them?" he demanded, incredulous.

"I never called them King," she scoffed.

"Of all the—" he sputtered, unable to finish while her words hung in the air.

"Their own actions brought them to their ends," she pronounced, cutting him short.

"Liar!" Robert spat. At her back, Maleficent felt all three of her companions stiffen angrily. Her feathers threatened to bristle, too, but she kept them still. The slightest gesture of her hand signaled her friends to subside.

"Listen carefully, Robert Brinwood—yes," she gritted when she noted his surprised scowl, "I do know who you are. Henry went where he should not have gone. What lay between Stefan and me was an old wrong, answered by another done in return. Those debts came due these three nights past, and that is an end to them. You may take this chance now to let these things rest, or you may take them up for your own, but mark me when I tell you that way brings only grief."

"If that does not bring you, then why do you come?" Robert demanded.

"I think you can see very well why, but I will speak it anyway. She raised her voice so that the whole assemblage could hear. "I am the chosen tutelary of the rightful heir, and I am come to see her take her place." There was a general murmur of bewilderment at this announcement, for there could be no mistaking that this was Maleficent, she who had menaced them all before, famous for cursing the Princess. Now, though, Maleficent named herself the girl's tutelary, her appointed caretaker-guardian. The gathered nobility surely expected some form of deception, and yet…the girl seemed to have come with Maleficent and her cohort willingly. Aurora stood among them at her ease, and they surrounded her in a subtly protective cordon, with Maleficent before and the others to either side. Even as the nobles watched, the taller, dark-haired man (Diaval, though they did not know his name) placed a soothing hand on Aurora's shoulder, gave it a comforting squeeze and let his hand drop again.

Robert, too, blinked in confusion for a moment, unable to make himself believe what Maleficent was proposing. "You mean…to set a woman on the throne? You cannot be serious!" he protested.

"Do I look otherwise to you?" she inquired lightly. Danger lurked in her tone, but for once Robert held his tongue and did not take her bait. Seeing that he would not, she calmly pressed forward. "It is plain you mean to have the throne for yourself, but Princess Aurora is the late King's own daughter, and granddaughter of Henry through her mother's line. You are a cousin, no more, and not the only one with that degree of kinship. Her claim supersedes yours."

"A woman cannot inherit!" he insisted vehemently.

"This time one will," Maleficent informed him.

Robert stared at Maleficent for a long moment, struggling to understand. Then a truly nasty grin blossomed across his face as he admired what he assumed was her brilliance. "You mean to use the girl as your puppet."

Now it was Maleficent's turn to be baffled, unsure what he could be implying, until at last she grasped it. _He suggests I would use Aurora to rule by proxy, as if she were no more than a tool, _she realized. She understood, too, that such a thing entered his mind because it was exactly what he would attempt to do if he did not hope to have the throne for himself. If that were not possible, he would doubtless have pursued other avenues, most likely seeking to use Aurora to bolster his claim much as Aurora's mother had been used, as nothing more than some token of alliance. If Maleficent had not already meant to drive these wolves of nobility as far from Aurora as possible, then this alone would have set her intent in stone. She kept her expression neutral, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her skin flushed hot. Only someone who knew her extremely well could have read her emotion, but to Diaval the tightening of her jaw spoke eloquently of her fury. Indeed, he shared a measure of that feeling. Maleficent mastered herself, and made her reply.

"Speak of me however you will," she warned, her voice expressing everything her face did not, "but if you ever again speak of Aurora in such a way I will _not _forget."

Robert visibly blanched, much to Maleficent's satisfaction. Even more satisfying was knowing how fruitless Robert's schemes would have been. Aurora, after all, had been the one with the pluck to approach Maleficent at her worst, and tell _her _not to be afraid. If Robert thought Aurora would be anyone's biddable puppet, then more fool him.

At length, Robert was able to speak again. "What do you expect of us?"

"It is quite simple," she replied easily. "You—all of you—will stand aside and relinquish any designs you may have on the throne. Aurora will be acknowledged as Queen, and then the Court will disperse. You will all return to the lands held by your families, and remain there until you are called for."

There was a murmur of dissatisfaction with this, and Robert felt himself encouraged by that. "And why should we do so? You have no allies, you bring no forces. By what means do you think to compel us? Will you curse us all? I do not believe you can. What will you do if we refuse?"

"Nothing," Maleficent instantly replied. She had exactly what she had been waiting for. "If you refuse, then I will do nothing…and you will not thank me for it."

Confused whispers rustled through the crowd of onlookers. Even Robert knew enough to be suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this Kingdom is about to fall apart, and it will do so without my having to lift a finger," she said, quiet and steady. "There is a famine coming. Indeed, it is already upon you. You have made this fate yourselves and have not seen it, but it will not spare you. Go ahead and claim your crown. By the time the Winter let out, you would be King of nothing but dust and ashes."

Absolute silence fell upon the Hall. Stunned, they tried to make sense of the rhetorical arrow she had loosed in their midst. Famine? How could that be? Was this _her _doing? But it was not, and they at last understood when Maleficent began to speak again.

"Twice these last few days I have crossed this country through the air, and both times seen the same thing. I saw the plots of land, laid out below, with their borders of fence and hedge and stone as they always have been, but where I should have seen people, I saw no one, and where I should have seen things green and growing I saw land left barren. _Your every single field lies fallow. _The first breath of Autumn is on the air, and you have no crop." For this was what had caught Maleficent's eye, and what she had described to her companions—the fields rank and untended, the people nowhere to be found. Even more telling, though she did not say this aloud, was that it had been clear that some of the fields had gone unplanted for years. Any surplus the human kingdom had once stored up against the threat of privation must also be running low. The consequences were both devastating and inevitable.

"The 'first breath of Autumn?'" one of the elder nobles protested. "But it's Midsummer!"  
"A month _past _Midsummer," Maleficent corrected sternly, "and too late for planting. Anything your people sew now would be taken by frost before it bore fruit."

She let their further protests wash over her. Admittedly, she held mixed emotions about the human habit of farming, for in her blood and bone she was a creature of the Moors, and the very word meant "Untamed Wilds". The concept of breaking the Earth and forcing the soil to bear what its masters willed could not help but sit uneasily with her, yet she also knew that this was the means by which human people provided for themselves, and the thought of a King neglecting such a basic need in his subjects gave even Maleficent a terrible chill. And where were the men who should have tended those fields? Maleficent could guess. They were the endless horde of soldiers throwing themselves uselessly against her Wall. They were the Castle Guard. They were the conscripted laborers who toiled in the Forge and the stinking dark of the Iron Pits. Though Stefan must have kept some part of himself in check for a very long time, there was no doubting now that as the Curse's time drew near he had lost that last inch of sanity in his quest to destroy Maleficent. Every last hale man had been forced into service, and only the women and children and infirm had been left to scratch some bare living from the ground. It would not be enough.

"This—this cannot be true!" Robert insisted, his voice finally cutting over the other uneasy mutterings.

"Go and look for yourself," Maleficent invited. "You will find it exactly as I say. You have pursued your War, and this is what it has done to you. I offer you this one hope: if you do as I have bid, if you leave off ambition and keep to what is properly yours, then I will aid you. I cannot alter the coming of the Seasons, but I can hasten the coming of the harvest, so that it may be gathered before the cold sets in. If you fail to heed me, then your misfortune will be your own doing."

Uncomfortable silence greeted her pronouncement. Sure enough, it was Robert who ended it. "Can we possibly trust this witch?" he demanded, turning to the others.

"Have we any choice?" another of the nobles asked bitterly.

"Of course we do!" he fumed. "Surely—what about the granaries? We have the stores in the granaries. We don't _need _her!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

"I'm afraid the granaries won't save us." This was spoken in a quiet voice, from the back of the crowd. The speaker, when he stepped forward, was revealed to be a man of middle height and middle years, some gray along his temples but no stoop to his walk. His plain dress marked him as coming from the common class. As everyone else present knew him, he introduced himself to the guest who did not. "I am Ansgar, Lady Maleficent, Chief of Stewards."

"No one sent for you," Robert glowered.

"No, Lord Brinwood," Ansgar agreed mildly. "I was not sent for. I came that I might be nearby at need, and I think perhaps my services may be of use." He ignored Robert's skeptical look, and simply continued where he had begun. "The granaries can't save us because they're almost empty. They were meant to hold stores for six months to tide us through winter, with some extra for emergencies, but we've drawn on them nine months this year already, and the harvests have been poor for some while. If we do not harvest this year, we are surely lost."

"Why did you never speak of this before?"

"I tried, Lord Brinwood. No one ever seemed to have time to see me," Ansgar answered, his voice studiously neutral.

Before Robert could work himself up to castigate the upstart servant, one of the older nobles present spoke. He, at least, seemed to recognize that the Steward was trying to do his duty. He had been ignored before, but a Steward's responsibility was to watch over his master's holdings, and this was information they needed to know.

"You swear what you tell us is true?" the elder nobleman asked firmly.

Ansgar nodded. "Every word, Baron Carsgrave."

Branl Carsgrave sighed grimly. "And I suppose that there would be no point riding out to inspect our lands; they must be as bare as the Lady says. We're in bad straights."

Maleficent was content to let the men work out their situation for themselves. Another relatively levelheaded noble proposed that they could purchase grain with money from the Treasury, only to be told by Ansgar that the Treasury, like the food-stores, was nearly dry. His words an uncanny echo of Maleficent's earlier thoughts, Ansgar told them all that both the men and the coin had gone for soldiers, metalworkers and iron. Though they briefly considered whether the iron might be sold in exchange for the food they needed, the notion was quickly abandoned. It would take too long, for one, and the pinch-faced Lord of Saff pointed out a grimmer truth.

"Even if time were not against us, we have no reason to trust our neighbors would help. Why should they, when they could just watch us starve and take us at their leisure?" In the end, no one could deny his point.

"Then I can see no choice," Baron Carsgrave concluded. "We must do as Lady Maleficent requires." There were still those who murmured that there _must _be a way—Lord Brinwood prominent among them—but for most, the reality of their position was beginning to sink in. Carsgrave solemnly came to stand before Maleficent. "If we concede, will you do as you have promised?"

"I will," she replied.

"How may we know that we may trust you?" he asked, his tone surprisingly matter-of-fact.

"Believe that I will do it for her sake," Maleficent answered him quietly. "If you cannot believe thus, then believe that it would do me no good to have more discord on my borders. Such trouble would only spill over and threaten what I am sworn to protect."

"Very likely it would," he finally conceded. "I am inclined to accept your conditions," he announced, "but I know others are not of the same opinion." His gaze shifted to Brinwood and a knot of his closest supporters, then back to Maleficent. "Will you grant us one week to take counsel among ourselves, that we may answer you properly?"

"You may have one week," she permitted, "but no more. As you have noted," she cautioned them, "time does not favor us."

"Then we are agreed," he pronounced, inclining his head to her formally. And with that, it was over, for there was little doubt what their answer would be. The Hero-turned-Villain had turned Hero again, and the Kingslayer had turned Queenmaker. The War was done, and it was Maleficent who stood victorious.

* * *

** And...that's it for this chapter. I had fun with Maleficent playing power politics. I figured the nobles weren't just going to hand it all over (sexism and ambition-nasty combination) but it also crossed my mind that things had to be pretty badly neglected in the kingdom. So, Maleficent had a lever to use and this chapter was born in my head. I hope it made sense to you all and you enjoyed reading it. **


	6. Stone Walls

**Note:** Finally, a new chapter! There's been some real life traels which celayed things, but I hope this will be worth the wait.

**Disclaimer:** Alas, the original story is still not mine.

* * *

**Stone Walls**

By the time Maleficent and Carsgrave had reached their temporary accord, it was early evening. The Steward saw to it that a Chamberlain was summoned to arrange accommodations for Lady Maleficent and her party. When the Chaberlain inquired as to their needs, he found that they were quite simple: a quiet place with room enough that they could remain together. Though it was doubtful that he realized "quiet" really meant "an isolated place where any intruder would be obvious," he was able to show them to a modest suite of rooms that were perfectly suitable. There was a central siting-room with four smaller rooms for sleeping off to the sides, all simply but comfortably furnished and swiftly but scrupulously made clean. Once he was assured that the quarters were acceptable to their guests, the Chamberlain promised to have a meal sent to them presently and took his leave.

Aurora once again found herself in an unusually contemplative mood, having to come to terms with the whirlwind of recent events. It was a bit overwhelming—seeing the Nobles, hearing their reactions, the reality of everything beginning to set in, though the most troubling of all at the moment was the desperate situation facing this country (_her _country, soon).

"Godmother," she began hesitantly. "We wouldn't…we couldn't really leave everyone to starve, could we? If they refuse?"

"There is no 'we,' Beastie," Maleficent told the girl gently, falling back on the old endearment. "It is none of it your fault. They believe _I _would leave them to starve, and that is sufficient. They will not refuse. I wouldn't wish to do it, if it came to that; there is enough Evil in this world without my adding any more to it, but you must remember that they do not see me as you do. They see only an enemy, and if they were not prepared to accept my help in spite of that, then I could do very little."

Maleficent found that she could not put into words how much she truly _did _want to help, how the invocation to bring forth living things stuck in her throat, aching to be spoken. Aurora's only response was a silent nod, and Maleficent saw the girl brace herself up in an act of will, making herself face the difficult truths of a world she had not been prepared for. Seeing it, Maleficent felt a welling of deep pride, witnessing in such hints as this glimpses of the redoubtable woman Aurora was capable of becoming. Let others be blind if they wished, but Maleficent would take her joy in watching Aurora grow.

"It was still cruel, the things they said about you," Aurora remarked, displaying a rare bit of indignation on behalf of her Godmother.

"It's quite alright, Beastie," Maleficent assured her. "They were _supposed_ to tangle with me today instead of you." She put her forehead to her daughter's—the sort of affectionate gesture she reserved only for Aurora. "It was a long war—longer even than most of those men can likely fathom—and such things take time to heal. Just be patient."

Aurora sighed, and realized that a part of her unease probably came from being cooped up within the thick, stone walls of the Castle. Growing up in the sunny cottage, with the Glen and Forest for her playground, her earlier life had been free and full of light. This place was alien to her, and even a bit frightening. Unlike the much larger, more nebulous problems looming over them, however, she thought that this was one that was easily dealt with. She knew that her Godmother would deal with any such anxiety by tackling it head-on, and with that for her example, Aurora decided that she would go out from their chambers and explore her new home.

Maleficent was unsurprised when Phillip volunteered to accompany the Princess, but she did not object when they set off. She forced herself to acknowledge that Aurora needed space to begin making her own decisions, and this was a first step, however modest, so as they departed Maleficent adjured them only to be careful and not to stay away too long. The thought of Phillip-as-bodyguard was almost amusing, for though he was two years or so Aurora's senior and Maleficent assumed (correctly, as it happened) that he'd received at least rudimentary training-at-arms in the manner of all young, noble-born males, he would not have been a match for a more cunning nobleman, or a full-grown, veteran member of the Castle Guard. Then again, Maleficent knew that there would be no danger this night. The Nobles were too busy licking their wounds, and the Guard was conspicuously absent. If they had wanted to act, then the Guard would have done so long before now, and it was very evident that they wanted no part of a renewed skirmish with the rogue Faerie and her skin-changing familiar.

As soon as the younger pair had vanished through the main door, shutting it behind them, Maleficent released a long breath, letting a hidden weariness come to the surface. If gestures of affection were reserved only for Aurora, then moments where she allowed any other part of herself show through were reserved only for Diaval. She, like Aurora, felt unsettled within the walls of the Castle, although her disquiet came from knowing the Castle all too well. This, after all, was the place to which she'd had to come to confront the man who had—well, Maleficent didn't know if there was even a word for the violation she had suffered. She had known only that she'd had to make Stefan _realize _what he had done, to make him see that he could not do such a thing and then expect her to disappear for his convenience. So she had come here, and faced him at his infant daughter's christening, in this place. The place where so recently she and Diaval had fought for their lives. The place where they had almost lost Aurora.

A wave of uncountable emotions washed over her, and for a moment, her iron burns stung as if they were fresh injuries, not days old and nearly healed. Her wings tensed, lifting slightly, and their feathers splayed rigidly before at length they subsided and her wings once more folded calmly at her back. Few others besides Diaval would have realized that wings could be an outlet for self-expression as much as a means of flight, but now Maleficent was able to evince her feelings and find relief from them in a way that had been denied her for many, many years. Clearly, despite her words to Aurora, some of the Nobles' barbs had gouged through her defenses. Nevertheless, she had purposely drawn their ire onto herself in order to spare her adoptive daughter, and Diaval could only shake his head in wonder at such an act. He dared to approach a couple of steps closer.

"Mistress?" He purposely left his inquiry open-ended so that she could hear in it whatever she most needed.

"No need for concern, Daival—and you don't have to call me that. Not me," she said heavily. "Not anymore." He gave a short nod and she gave a pained expression that looked like a smile but wasn't. "It was never something I had a right to in the first place."

"If you say so, Mistress," came his response.

She wheeled on him with a ferocious glare before she caught the gleam of humor behind his strikingly black eyes. Her expression softened into a mildly chiding look, and she found that the worst of her troubled mood had suddenly passed. To help banish the rest of it, she turned her mind to more practical matters. Diaval seemed to grasp Maleficent's purpose, and accepted without protest when she changed the subject.

"What do you know about that Steward?" she asked him. The man—Ansgar?— had certainly not been brought up in their earlier discussions, and she disliked being faced with such an unknown quantity. She wondered if he wasn't the same Steward who had figured in Phillips's tale.

"I don't know him at all, I'm afraid," Diaval had to ruefully admit. He had not been so remiss in his years of spying as to ignore the Castle's common staff entirely—they were always the best source for gossip and overheard bits of information—but there were a great many of them and as a result very few had come to his attention as players in and of themselves, and those he did notice tended to be those who were obviously ambitious or incompetent. Thus, the Steward's going unremarked before the present suggested that he was neither of these things, a point which might be construed in his favor. "He seems to know what he's doing," Diaval remarked aloud. "Actually, I think he could be a big help. We'll need someone who can show Aurora the ropes, and he might be just who we're looking for."

Maleficent let out a skeptical huff. "That would be too easy. In my experience, the world is not in the habit of blithely providing for one's every wish." She eyed her companion, who looked down and shifted his weight from foot to foot. "You disagree?"

"Not exactly," he hedged. "I mean, that's not how things usually go, you're right about that, but I'm a Raven," he pointed out, as if this explained everything. With a glance, Maleficent silently bade him to enlighten her. "We're scavengers," he elucidated, "and we're not ashamed of that because we learn things living the way we do, and one of the things we learn is that sometimes the world does give you something right when you most need it. Not often, maybe, but sometimes. Could be it's our turn to catch a break."

"That'll be the day," Maleficent murmured, lips forming a wry twist, but the words lacked any bitterness. "Well, we shall see," she concluded more firmly. "If he proves trustworthy, then we may indeed make use of him."

That seemed the only logical response, though the thought of yet one more reason to 'wait and watch' was endlessly draining. At her core, Maleficent was a woman of action, meant for clean contests upon a battlefield, strength against strength, not this plotting and scheming. She felt everything beginning to close in on her again. Though she did not allow herself to look towards her chosen sleeping-chamber, where a window let out onto a balcony and the open air, something subtle must have given her away, because Diaval urged her to go ahead. It did not seem fair to contemplate flying while leaving him grounded, but they did not know when Phillip and Aurora would return, and the pair would worry if they came back and found the rooms left empty. Ever-patient, Diaval did not mind staying behind, and he told Maleficent as much.

Pausing only to offer a look of profound gratitude, she strode out to the balcony and took wing. Her first impulse was to soar as high as she could bear, find the strongest headwind in the whole sky, and strive against it until she could fly no more, but she resisted and instead, under the light of the lowering Sun, she flew low and broad, the habitual arc of her normal reconnaissance. The comforting familiarity made it soothing.

When she finally felt at peace again, she turned her course back to the Castle, and easily found the windows to their quarters. When she stepped through into the main room, she discovered that Aurora and Phillip were also just come back from their explorations, and there was food on the table. They all arranged themselves around it and shared out portions, and in the beginning Diaval carried the conversation, asking Phillip and Aurora about which parts of the Castle they had seen. This topic soon brought out Aurora's natural curiosity, and she asked Phillip about his home.

"What's the castle like where you live?" she asked him.

"Not so large as this," he admitted, "but more open. Ulstead, where I'm from, it's mostly hill-country, so the Castle sits at the highest point and on the right sort of day you can see clear to the coast at Theranvale. As Kingdoms go, we're pretty small, which I guess is why I was sent up here in the first place. We'd been hearing rumors from passing merchants that the King of Aldersthame was buying all the iron he could get his hands on, and digging for more." Though Diaval had at least heard of it in passing, it took a moment for the other two to realize that Phillip was referring to Aurora's land by its given name. For her, it had simply been "the Kingdom," being the extent of her world, and to Maleficent it had always been "the Borderlands," its main quality being that it was not the Moors.

"Why would Ulstead be worried about iron?" Aurora wondered. She knew the Fae had good reason to fear the metal, but a land of Men…?

"We assumed the King was building an army—a conventional one, I mean. We didn't know about the Moors—we have tales of Fae or creatures like them, but those were just _stories, _pure fancy as far as we knew_—_so our best guess was that the King either planned to invade one of his human neighbors, or else he feared one of them was planning to do the same to him. What really worried us, though, was the possibility that he was planning something bigger, a serious campaign, and if that turned our direction…." He shrugged. "We couldn't hope to put up a fight on our own, so our best chance was to send someone to the Aldersthame Court and see what we could findout. If we could learn enough, at least that might give us a chance to muster some allies."

"Ah, well," he shrugged. "The good news is, now we know we don't have to worry about any of that."

"But the bad news?" Aurora asked, brow furrowing slightly as she caught a leading hint in his tone.

He merely grinned, the genuine humor in it somewhat reassuring. "The bad news is that now I'm going to have to write home, and they are never going to believe a word I say. Just picture it: 'Dearest Mother and Father,''' he recited with exaggerated seriousness, imagining how his letter might unfold. "'I can say with great confidence that our fears of invasion have been unfounded. On a related note, did you know that Faeries are quite real? I had a very nice conversation with one just the other day and now we are all staying at the Palace. Also, there was a Dragon.'"

He laughed at his own predicament, and Aurora and Diaval joined in, envisioning how such a missive would be received; Even Maleficent bore a small expression of amusement. When the merriment finally subsided, Aurora asked, more seriously, "What will you do?"

"Tell the truth," he answered simply. "They probably won't believe it at first, but the worst they can do is to send someone else after me. Once he starts telling the exact same story, whoever the poor man may be, then Mother and Father will have to listen. I suppose I could ride back in person to try to convince them, but…." He drew a deep breath. "Princess Aurora, Lady Maleficent, I…I know I haven't been a part of this, not from the beginning, the way you have, and I know I may not have much to offer but…I would very much like help however I can. May I have your permission to stay with you?"

Maleficent considered carefully. She was justifiably wary of human beings and their intentions, but this boy did seem to have a certain honesty to him, and he had stood by them quite admirably in the Great Hall. There was no knowing for sure whether he could really be trusted, but the life of a Protector was lived by a series of simple rules: keep close to what you must protect. Watch your enemies. Identify threats and do whatever is required to stop them. And, above all, never turn aside from any tool or ally that might aid you in your task.

"I do not forbid it," Maleficent pronounced, and looked to Aurora, for her consent was the most important.

"Of course!" Aurora beamed, glad to have a friend to add to their improbable but close-knit family.

"Thank you," Phillip said, honored to have their acceptance.

The rest of the meal passed with only the occasional bit of light chatter, and by the time they had finished and stacked their dishes neatly aside, it had grown quite late. Phillip and Aurora said their goodnights and retired, she to her room safely surrounded by all the others, Phillip to his just next to Aurora's. The room on the other side, of course, was Maleficent's domain, and Diaval's was just beyond hers. Before she left to seek her own rest, Maleficent first turned to Diaval.

"Would you like me to change you?" she asked.

He considered whether he would be most comfortable sleeping as Raven or Man, but decided that in a place of Men, his human form would be wisest. "I think I would like to stay as I am," he told her, barely managing not to slip and call her "Mistress".

"Very well," she replied. As she watched him make his way to his chamber, Maleficent reflected that he deserved more—true control over his form, even, if such a thing were possible—but at least for now she could continue to give him a choice. She promised herself that she would look into it when their present obligations were more tractable.

In the starless dark of this unfriendly, iron-smelling place, it should have been a night of poor rest and ill dreams. Somehow, it was not.


	7. The First Breath of Autumn

**Note:** Welcome to a new chapter! These seem to be getting longer as I go on...

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I still do not own the source material, only what I've conjured up here in my own imagination.

* * *

**The First Breath of Autumn**

The appointed seven days passed with a curious mix of excruciating slowness and dizzying speed, and though they stayed away from the Great Hall so that they could not be accused of interfering with the Lords' deliberations, each member of the group had their own ways of filling the time. Maleficent and Diaval flew frequently, to watch for any signs of trouble, which, to their relief, did not materialize. Phillip was occupied writing up the Dreaded Letter—and in his mind it very much merited the capital letters—and after a few false starts he had begun to feel that it was shaping up rather well, if he might be allowed to judge on his own behalf. Aurora had found herself in a very different sort of unfamiliar territory. After one good look, the Chatelaine—the woman who acted as the Lady of the House after the loss of the late Queen—had declared Aurora's current state of dress utterly unsuitable and all but kidnapped the girl, chivvying her down to the seamstresses' workroom before Aurora had time to protest.

For the sake of its reassuring familiarity, Aurora had worn her favorite frock which, as she had been raised a peasant (or at any rate, by three Pixies masquerading as peasants) the frock was a peasant's wear. It was durable, practical, and very comfortable, which was just why it was her favorite. Naturally, these same properties were exactly why the Chatelaine hated it. Upon their arrival in the workroom, Aurora was presented tersely, and her situation was generally agreed to be in need of immediate correction. While several of the women set to taking all the necessary measurements, another was sent off and after a few minutes returned with several gowns draped over her arms. Two were in somber colors, though the third was a slightly less subdued green.

"These," the Chatelaine explained, "belonged to your mother." A hint of softness entered her voice for the first time. "It would be kinder if we could make new gowns for you, but with nothing else to hand and only a week to work in, there is not much choice. I think she would have liked for you to have them."

She was ordered to try on the first of the gowns, and while the seamstresses went about their work, Aurora silently ran her fingers over the silky fabric and wondered about the woman who had last worn it, the mother she had never known. What had she been like? Had she been happy? Had she wanted a child, and missed her daughter after she'd been taken away? Aurora wished very much that she could have met that mysterious woman, yet at the same time desperately longed to have her Godmother near just then. The brief hour or so it took to get through the first fitting was not enough to sort through such confusing emotions, and once it was done she was ushered back to the guest suite, which was beginning to feel like something of a safe haven.

None of the guests had much appetite at breakfast when the seventh day finally arrived. Aurora had dressed in the soberest of the three gowns the seamstresses had been able to prepare. As reluctant as she had been to admit it, she realized deep down that appearances had become important in this new life, and she was going to have to look like a Queen, however little she actually felt like one. A messenger knocked quietly at their door at almost the very moment she and the others had decided that they were through pretending to eat their morning meal, as if servants possessed some magic of their own that allowed for perfect timing.

"The Lords of Aldersthame are prepared to receive you and request your presence at your earliest convenience," the messenger announced.

Maleficent acknowledged him, and after pausing only long enough to be sure that they were all ready, they rose and allowed the messenger to lead them away, arranging themselves around Aurora much as they had a week before. They arrived before a set of heavy doors, with guards posted to either side. These drew the doors open and stepped aside, allowing the messenger to enter the Great Hall and announce Aurora and her companions.

When they followed, they found that a good deal of progress had been made clearing away the evidence of the battle, even the damage to the window being covered over with oiled cloth to keep out the elements. Behind the throne, left empty as was only fitting, were hung a pair of huge banners, both identical and bearing the Aldersthame coat of arms, which Maleficent had first seen emblazoned upon the standards of Henry's army: a rampant lion sewn in gold upon a field of blood-red.

The conclave of Nobles that awaited them in the Great Hall was largely the same that had been there before, with the addition of a few lesser gentry summoned by their respective Lieges. All were dressed in their Court best, having had a proper chance to prepare this time around, though this was not the only difference; Now, Branl Carsgrave stood at the fore and Robert Brinwood was left to stand several paces behind. He did not even bother trying to hide his disgust at the situation.

Taking a step forward and bowing respectfully, Carsgrave spoke firmly, voice loud enough so that all could hear. "Lady Maleficent, Princess Aurora. We, the Lords of Aldersthame in assembled Council, have considered our position and elected to accept your terms. We proclaim Aurora, daughter of Stefan, to be heir to the throne, in exchange for your aid. We know we have already begged your patience; if it suits you we are prepared to carry out our partof the pledge before this day sees its end."

Maleficent nodded her approval of this plan.

"Then it is agreed. We…we would ask your leave for only one more thing before we go on," he said.

A nervous hush fell over the room. There had been serious contention over whether it was too dangerous to ask for what he was about to request, but in the end Carsgrave had refused to speak for the Court unless the request was put forward. He had not insisted out of any love for Stefan, but only out of decency for the dead. "We ask leave to bury our fallen King."

Maleficent's face remained unreadable, and for a long moment she did not speak. Carsgrave began to wonder if perhaps old Saff hadn't been right, for the dour Lord had objected quite vehemently. ("Look what she did when she wasn't invited to the Christening," he'd growled. "Heaven knows what she might do if we offend her again." No one there knew, of course, that her 'distress' at being univited had been taken too literally—and perhaps that first misunderstanding laid the seeds for a very different retelling of events in later days.) As much as it had galled him, Carsgrave had been tempted to agree with Saff about leaving out the request for Stefan's burial; Carsgrave was not exactly young himself and he was wise enough to have a general sense of the sort of man that Stefan had been. Still, even the worst of men did not deserve to be left to rot, though Carsgrave would not have breathed a word of his thoughts in front of the man's own child. He could only ask Lady Maleficent for permission as plainly as possible and hope to Heaven for mercy.

"You may do so," she told him at last. The entire room breathed a sigh of relief. By longstanding custom, a former King was not laid to rest before his successor was chosen, even if it were as simple a matter of confirming his firstborn son, and the successor, in turn, was not seated until the King was laid to rest. As glad as the Nobles were to dodge Maleficent's wrath, they were equally eased by the prospect of adhering to familiar traditions when so much else seemed to be changing around them. For her part, though the Nobles would probably never understand, Maleficent had agreed to the request for Aurora's sake, and for the sake of the boy Stefan had once been.

"We thank you," Carsgrave acknowledged formally. "I see little point in delay," he proposed to the gathered body. "Ansgar?" he inquired, turning to the Steward, whom he had asked to remain nearby.

"I have had everything made ready," Ansgar answered.

"Then we should go," Carsgrave suggested. "Lady Maelficent, you are welcome to attend or decline as you wish."

For herself, she had neither the need nor desire to attend, but one look at Aurora proved that the girl needed her Godmother with her, so when the time came Maleficent went along. The Barrow-mounds where Aldersthame had long interred its Kings was not far from the Castle. Soon, the four companions were there, along with such Nobles as chose to be present and the Priest whose office it would be to speak the Last Blessings. This same regarded Maleficent with a loathing only exceeded by the venomous looks Robert Brinwood continued to send her way. This was not wholly surprising to Maleficent; throughout the long enmity between the Moors and the Borderlands, Men of Religion had always been particularly adamant in their antipathy towards the Fae and their Magic. The Fae found this baffling, for in their minds the communion they had with Nature was a sacred thing—what could be more so?—and they could not understand how ostensibly holy men, human though they might be, could remain so ignorant. Actually, it seemed to be the Magic that bothered the Priests the most, which was all the more baffling. Yes, Magic could be used to bring about great evil—Maleficent herself knew that better than anyone by now—but Magic as a force unto itself was no such thing. The Fae had known from almost the Beginning that the Right or Wrong of Magic lay solely in the hands that shaped it; that understanding was implicit in some of the Fae's oldest stories, and the very humans standing there right that moment were depending on Maleficent to use benevolently-directed Magic for their benefit. Perhaps the humans would learn something from all this, though Maleficent found that exceedingly unlikely.

She paid little heed as the Priest began the prescribed rites, her attention instead drawn to the simple cairn lying next to the fresh grave. The small pile of stones stood in memory of the long-gone Queen, and Maleficent found herself thinking about this other, unknown woman, one who had done no wrong yet who must still have suffered in the wake of the Curse. She had lost her daughter, her child, while that child yet lived. To know that one's child was out in the world, somewhere, and that one might never see them again…that was a pain Maleficent had only lately become capable of understanding, and because of Maleficent this helpless woman had felt that grief. Here was another person whose forgiveness she could never ask for.

_I never knew you_, Maleficent mused, thinking of the other woman. _I know you only by the child you bore, though maybe…maybe in her there is some of you. I can never undo what I did. I can only offer you the same promise I made to her, that I would give my very breath to keep her safe and all that I am that she may be truly happy. _Maleficent could do nothing to bring this other woman back, but at least she could care for her only legacy.

Fae did not typically spend time contemplating the nature or possibility of an afterlife. They were immortal, after all, if not invulnerable, impervious to age or illness…but Maleficent hoped that there was something left of that woman—a ghost? a spirit?—to hear her words, and that wherever that something was, it was at peace. Next to Maleficent, Aurora also seemed to be thinking of the woman beneath the cairn. The girl hovered close at her Godmother's side, not straying from the security of Maleficent's shadow.

The simple service was carried out with minimal embellishment, and it did not take long, though it sat heavy in their minds. Stones were laid for a new cairn, and Aurora stepped forward to place one, although Maleficent stayed back. Once the cairn was built, the ceremony at last was over.

After a few final words, the gathering dissolved as they all made their way back to the Castle to attend to what must follow. The coronation was also a sober proceeding. In other times, a coronation would have been a lavish affair, as if those celebrating hoped to inure themselves to the fact that coronations were always preceded by funerals. Now, however, with battle so recent and a famine looming, the only concession to Royal splendor had been the hanging of the banners.

The Priest was again called upon, this time for the rituals of investiture. He did not seem very eager to become the instrument of drastic change, but he carried out his duty without incident. He recited the required words and placed the crown upon Aurora's young head. No one else caused any trouble, either, which Maleficent expected was the result of stern warnings from Carsgrave with, she was interested to note, the quiet backing of the Captain of the Guard who had 'conveniently' appeared to watch the room with an attentive eye.

When the Priest's part was done, it was the Nobles' turn. One by one, they came before the throne, bent to one knee and swore their fealty to their new Queen. Some did so more willingly or grudgingly than others, but they each went in their turn, some two dozen or so major Lords and Barons and a great many more of the lesser gentry. The whole exhausting ordeal took a very long time, but the last and least of the gentry finally spoke his oath, bringing the solemn procession to a close.

There were no grand speeches or banquets after that; the Herald proclaimed the name of Queen Aurora, formally sealing her new title for all to witness, and the witnesses filed silently from the Great Hall, marking the end of a long day.

Aurora realized that everyone expected her to move from the guest quarters and take up residence in the royal chambers—and for the sake of emphasizing her new status, she should probably do so at the earliest possible moment—but that evening she granted herself one last night spent close to her loved ones. By the time all but the smallest lamp in the sitting room had been snuffed, only Aurora and Maleficent remained awake. Aurora took a final glance at the crown where it rested on the table, right where she had carefully set it as soon as they had all arrived back a few hours before. It was still a shock every time she laid eyes on it.

"I wonder if I'll ever feel like I know what I'm doing," Aurora sighed.

"You'll grow into it," Maleficent assured her. "No one feels ready when they first assume a heavy responsibility—I certainly did not."

"What, you?" Aurora asked in surprise. She had never seen her Godmother project anything but perfect confidence.

"When I was your age, no," Maleficent admitted. "Actually, I was…much younger when the Moors were left without a Protector and I become Protector-in-Waiting. It should have been years before I began to shoulder those duties and…an older Protector should have been there to guide me, but it did not work out that way. I did have friends who cared for me, and good teachers who showed me everything I needed to know, but for a very long time I questioned whether I could be what everyone needed me to be. When the true test came, I found I could do it after all. You'll find your way."

"I hope so," Aurora said.

"You will," Maleficent promised her. "Best you go try and get some sleep," she suggested. Aurora nodded, and Maleficent also departed, following her own advice and taking to her bed. The Faerie's work began the next day.

Starting early, she let the wind take her to a secluded place and immersed herself in the energies that flowed through the human land. Though the territory was tamed in the human sense, it was not used to answering to the Fae or their Magic, so it was necessary for Maleficent to spend time learning the feel of it before attempting the work she had pledged to do. This took several days, but that also gave the Nobles time to organize themselves, gather up most of the vassals that had been stripped from their lands, and set out for their demesnes. Maleficent might have waited longer and ordered them first to look to their planting—it would require less of her power that way—but the difference would not be so great, and she was quite capable of creating what they needed from the soil itself, just as she had done with the wall of thorns. In fact, she had discovered that, after centuries of being farmed, the land _remembered. _It had become ingrained with something akin to an understanding of the things that the humans always asked it to produce. Perhaps that was why, when it was left untended, the land only seemed able to sustain a sour, weedy sedge.

When she knew she was ready, Maleficent returned to her secluded place and reached out to the energy she could feel flowing beneath her bare feet, and this time she let herself flow with it. Slowly, she began to speak, soothing, soft words full of sleep and plant-dreams and gently drifting. Lulled by the magic, the brambles and crab-grass and nettles gradually sank down and crumbled, returning their substance to the Earth to be re-used. Maleficent continued to speak, her cadence suddenly shifting from a drowsy murmuring to an urgent, enticing, rhythm, a call to _rise, come forth, grow! _In every corner of the Borderlands the deserted, neglected fields began to quicken with green shoots—corn and squash, wheat and barley, everything that was nourishing and good.

She let the Magic continue to flow, bathing the shoots in golden light, infusing them with strength and a yearning to unfurl swiftly. Finally, she came back to herself and let go the Magic, slightly wearied and drained of a fair portion of her power, but pleased with what she had accomplished.

Men long kept away from their homes, uprooted and turned to soldiers when they were farmers in their hearts, began to return to their cottages and families, and by the time they arrived the fields were green and thriving. The weather held fair and mild, a perfect late Summer, with the occasional gentle rain to slake the land's thirst and the farmers found to their fascination that they could actually see their plants growing, for what would normally have taken months to mature ripened in weeks instead. Maleficent flew daily, keeping a close watch and pouring forth more Magic anywhere that seemed to need it, and Diaval often came along, staying in the unobtrusive shape of a Raven. There was much lively talk then about the fast-growing crops and the barely-glimpsed, winged figure roving abroad who seemed to be behind it, though it was debatable whether the common folk made any connection between this mysterious person and the terrifying "sorceress" who had once brought sorrow.

There was soon speculation that not only was the crop coming in with preternatural swiftness, but that it looked as if it would also be a harvest of rare bounty, and when the time came ripe to begin the reaping, Aldersthame became a hive of activity. Not only was there the crop to bring in, there was hay to mow and lay up for the herds and flocks, and wood to chop and stack, for Aldersthame belonged to a Northern clime and Winter was nothing to take lightly.

Maleficent made one last circuit of the countryside at the harvest-time, visiting each major holding in turn, to make sure that nothing had been left lacking. Most often, her approach would send several of the fieldhands scurrying to the Manor to fetch a seneschal or other steward from whom she could then wring out enough information to tell her whether their needs had been met. That had been the way in Saff, Parram and Fingrove. It played out differently in Casrsgrave, where the Baron himself rode out to meet her upon word of her arrival. The main toil of the harvest was nearly done, but Maleficent noticed there were still plenty of folk out working as Branl Carsgrave reined in his mount and made a half-bow from his saddle.

"Lady Maleficent," he greeted formally. "What brings you to us this day?"

"I've come to ensure that you will have all you need for the Winter," she replied.

"We may have to take some care how we mete out our rations, but they should see us through. You have indeed been as good as your word," he acknowledged.

"You honored your part, thus I honor mine," she responded.

"And how fares the Queen?" he inquired pleasantly.

"Well enough," she told him, and clearly she meant to say no more, holding to her intent to keep the Nobles well distant until Aurora was better established. Still, things actually had been going well during the intervening weeks. The young woman seemed to be finding useful allies in the Chief Steward and Captain of the Guard, and while Maleficent was not one to accept unlooked-for boons without question, she had the increasing impression that Aurora's charms had won them over. The Captain in particular had been a surprise. Until the Coronation, Maleficent had been prepared to believe him as bloodthirsty as some of his men, like those who'd cornered her in their execution-circle during the battle at the Great Hall, but those, it turned out, had been hand-picked by Stefan and by Coronation day they had quietly disappeared. The much-reduced company of Guards who remained were those of the Captain's choosing, and Captain himself held to a very different sort of loyalty, a loyalty to the Crown rather than any particular person that wore it. Thus his duty had come into unexpected alignment with Maleficent's own determination to keep Aurora safe, and so long as their duty coincided, Maleficent and the Captain found that they had no quarrel.

"I am glad things are well," Carsgrave acknowledged. "We are on our way to mending, but if something were to happen now…. I hope you will not mistake me, Lady. It is right that the men have been brought home, and it is good to see the people happy, but if we are faced with any trouble from without or, worse, from within, we will have no soldiers to defend us."

"If there is trouble," she assured him firmly, "it will be met."

"Ah, but with what army?" he countered.

Maleficent did not answer him with words. Instead, she casually allowed her wings to spread to their full, sixteen-foot span.

The elderly nobleman's eyes widened…and in the next instant he threw his head back and laughed, an open-throated bellow that lasted until there were almost tears in his eyes. He took hold of himself as quickly as he could, knowing how his display might be misconstrued, and raised a hand in a gesture of peace. "Pray forgive me, Lady Maleficent. I laugh only at myself, and at an old man's folly. I never quite believed them, you see…." He paused a moment to wipe once at his eyes before explaining himself properly. "I was at Court all those years ago the day King Henry's army rode out only to come back in shreds, and I shook my head like everybody else at the outlandish tales the soldiers were telling, poor devils. Trees that walked, they said, and a great Serpent bursting from the Earth…and most of all, they talked about a single woman who stood athwart their advance and put them to rout when they failed to yield. I confess it, my Lady, I did not believe them back then. I suppose," he added delicately, "I came to believe parts of it in later years, but I think not until this moment did I believe it in my bones. Well! They say there's no fool like an old fool, and now we have proof," he chuckled, before his expression became more serious again. "It seems our safety is in your hands, Lady. I, for one, intend to be glad of that."

She acknowledged his sentiment with a nod. "There are others who may feel differently," she observed.

"Fah," he huffed. "No need to guess which, either. You'll want to watch him," the Baron said gravely. "Brinwood is one to hold grudges and I very much fear he may do something rash."

"Oh, I intend to watch that one very carefully," Maleficent told him.

"Good. Well, I am sure I've taken quite enough of your time with my chattering. I should leave you to go on about your work."

"There is much yet to do," she agreed. He offered another short bow and she gave a nod in answer as she turned and prepared to lift off.

"Fair weather for flying, Lady Maleficent," he called after her, causing her to halfway turn back, startled to hear such thoughtful well-wishing from anyone human.

"And fair fortune to you," she managed to reply. With that, she set off, lifting into the air and away to continue on her rounds.

It took another week to visit the further-flung provinces and finish ensuring that everything would be ready for Winter. Not a day later, a brief flurry dropped the first few drifting snowflakes over the country, an unmistakable sign of the seasons changing even though that particular spell of cold did not last long. Eventually, Autumn rolled in in earnest, but by then they were well prepared for it. What they were not prepared for, despite all their watchfulness, was just how reckless Brinwood was about to become.

* * *

**Note:** Yes, we have a cliffhanger! Also, the first hints of a serious plot, which I was not originally expecting when I started this. Alas, it seems that my last chapter was kind of a flop. It didn't seem to get much response and actually brought in my first-ever negative review. To be honest, that rather surprised me. So, I put it to you, my dear readers: was the last chapter truly lacking? If something went wrong, have I managed to get the story back on track here? Please tell me what you think of this latest offering-and thank you, everyone, thank you so much all of you who are coming along with me for this ride.


End file.
